Southern Boy Drawl
by pdljmpr6
Summary: Eliotcentric unrelated oneshots/drabbles because there's SO much there we don't know and I like to dream. Genres and ratings will vary. Prompts and word count stated in each chapter. Chapter Six- The Reasons.
1. More Than That

**A/N:** I've been wanting to do a 'drabble/oneshot' series for this fandom for a while, finally decided to start posting (cuz I don't have enough random fics in the works). I'll be using lines from the show as inspiration, but maybe some songs or prompts from you guys too if you want. They will, more than likely, all be eliotcentric (SURPRISE! haha) and unbetad, because I already have enough stuff to keep two betas busy and there's still more pouring out of me. I don't know how often I'll be updating and I don't know how long it'll be. Mostly just a ways for me to get my review fix when my beta's are busy. lol. Enjoy! -pj

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never will be. S'okay, they're probably better off in Dean Devlin's hands anyway.**

* * *

Title: **More than That**  
Word Count: **359**  
Genre: **General**  
Rating: **K**  
Line/Prompt: **"What? You think all I can do is bust heads?" - Eliot, The Wedding Job**  
**

Eliot knows most people only see the muscle and the menace and think that's all there is to him. It used to bother him, but he quickly started to see the misconception as the advantage it was learned to deal with the 'brawn and no brains' jokes, taking consolation in the fact that he could make them eat those words in a moment if he wanted.

For the record, he went to college. Only a year and in some white collar discipline he would never have gone through with, but it was Berkley if that means anything. He spent a year backpacking across Europe, calling his mother and sister back home from payphones in London and friendly farmhouses in Tuscany. Exchanging soft 'I love you's and quiet jokes and promising to break any boy's neck who had the misfortune of hurting his baby sister, he felt the burn of 'homesick' for the first time and cried like he hadn't since his father died. He met a chef in Paris who had such a way with knives that Eliot was entranced and spent a year studying under him. Learning to create a meal the way some people created a painted masterpiece.

He grew up breaking horses and nursed a newborn foul through its first few months of life when he was sixteen with a bottle and a soft touch when the little fella's momma died. He worked as a lifeguard for an entire summer in Brazil once and has surfed the waves in Sydney.

Eliot knows most people only see the muscle and the menace and think that's all there is. He's okay with that. But he can't help thinking, hoping, these people will be different.

He can't help but be happy as they slowly prove him right.


	2. Nightmares Would Be Nice

**Title**: Nightmares Would Be Nice**  
Word Count: **263**  
Genre: **Angst**  
Rating: **K**  
Line/Prompt: **"I only sleep 90 minutes a day." - Eliot, The Top Hat Job**

* * *

**It's not enough for most people to function on. Eliot isn't always sure it's enough for _him _to function on. But he makes it work.

When he was young, early in his career, he had to act a certain way, appear a certain level of angry and tough to be taken serious and, contrary to popular opinion, that wasn't always Eliot's default setting. Not sleeping made him grumpy. Being grumpy got him respect and, more importantly, jobs. So he got used to it and he learned to make it work.

But after a few years and a few jobs and growing up and growing hard, not sleeping was a necessity for a different reason.

He once fell asleep on a plane after a long, sleepless, three day job in a place that made Hell look like vacation. When he woke up he was standing with his back to the airlock and choking a terrified stewardess into unconsciousness.

He made a rule to never sleep when other people were around after that.

And the one time he accidentally broke that rule, he woke up with blood on his shirt and hands.

Eliot doesn't break his own rules anymore.

Sometimes the team asks him about it, tries to convince him to 'get some rest' on the couch during jobs or in the back seat while Nate drives. He always refuses without explanation. And though Sophie stares and Parker blinks and Nate frowns and Hardison jokes, he never explains why he can't sleep for more than 90 minutes a day.

He hopes they will never understand.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks so much for all the reviews. I love a quick drabble every now and then, don't you?


	3. anger and agony

**A/N:** Holy cow, it's a little sick how much I enjoyed writing this. But damn I did. I hadn't thought of that song in a long time and I heard it on the radio today and I couldn't stop this from pouring out almost immediately. If you've never heard it, LISTEN to it. Seriously. All you will be able to see is an Eliot montage in your head, I swear. Title is a line from the song...

**Title**: anger and agony are better than misery**  
Word Count: **283**  
Genre: **Angst**  
Rating: **T**  
Line/Prompt: **Pain by Three Days Grace  
**

* * *

**

One day, there would be a girl, with blonde hair and a wild smile. He would swear up and down that there is _something _wrong with her.

He would secretly wish to be _only_ as wrong as her.

But now, in this moment, with the stench of blood and despair and too-good training and too-much helplessness so thick on (in around) him he can no longer feel it, he knows there is no one more _wrong _than he.

He craves the self-loathing that used to fuel his nightmares. Wishes for the fear of shadows in the corners of rooms he doesn't recognize. Prays for hatred and anger and _something, _please God, _anything. _

But there is nothing.

He is small and unassuming when he enters a seemingly deserted warehouse (or dark alley or well-guarded arms' dealer's fortress) and knows he is seen as an easy target. So young. So naive.

And they are always _so _wrong.

When they leap from darkness, light bouncing off deadly metal barrels, arms swinging with adrenaline and without grace, there is only surprise and carnage as they realize how sorely they have underestimated him.

But he never gets out unscathed.

That's what he counts on.

He relishes the spark of fire and ice when the his breath is driven harshly from his lungs. Savors the way his knees buckle from a well-delivered kick and his neck snaps from the impact of a set of brass knuckles to his jaw. He understands the white hot explosion in his side when he carelessly (purposefully) leaves an opening in his posture and anticipates the way his ribs give out with a series of sickening cracks.

And then, finally (disturbingly unbelievably), Eliot smiles.


	4. Weapon of Choice

**A/N:** Haha, this one made me want to laugh. Only Eliot would think so casually about different types of weapons. But he sounded...annoyed almost with this line, definitely not afraid. I think Eliot was referencing The Wedding Job when he said this, but I went a different direction.

**Title**: Weapon of Choice**  
Word Count: **229**  
Genre: **General**  
Rating: **T**  
Line/Prompt: **"Meat Cleavers. Haven't done that in a while." - Eliot, The Runway Job

* * *

Eliot is familiar with almost every weapon imaginable. Knows the damage they can do first hand. Has felt it. Has inflicted it.

In sweet home Oklahoma he'd learned how to take care of welts left from a thick, brown leather belt. What fists could do to sensitive flesh he was introduced to just as early and bullies quickly learned to leave him alone.

His first experience with torture had been the business end of canes and hoses against his feet from his time in a middle east prison. Damn monkey. And electricity is a modern wonder, only not when it's coursing through your system at 16volts a second. Torture again, this time closer to home.

Chains and pipes are the choice of gangs in Chicago. Guns he is more familiar with than he likes, the weapon of choice for the criminal underworld in general. Knives are a South American favorite, as he discovered in Brazil. Broken bottles are a London bar staple. Any bar, actually.

He learned what damage a chair can do from a fiery redhead in Ireland. And a particularly pissed off brunette in Canada had shown him what dishes are capable of if thrown properly. Swords he tried his hand at during a weird encounter in North Egypt that had left him with a scar on his upper lip and another weapon mastered.

And nunchucks, frikken nunchucks for crying out loud, he'd been introduced to in Iowa of all places. Damn ninja craze.

But meat cleavers? Yeah. Been a while on that one.


	5. Expendable

**Title**: Expendable **  
Word Count: **333**  
Genre: **General**  
Rating: **K+ **  
Line/Prompt: **True Colors by Phil Collins

* * *

When I found out I would be working with Eliot Spencer I was…intrigued.

Well, more than intrigued.

Petrified.

Eliot is a legend in his profession. Not just because he's the best at what he does, even though he is. I mean, no one can fight like Eliot Spencer. Rucker wasn't wrong when he said Eliot fights like something's trying to get out of him. Sometimes I think it succeeds.

But the real impressive thing about Eliot is that he's still here. Hitters are considered 'expendable'. That's why they charge so much for what they do. Because, a lot of times, they don't' come back. And if they do there's a good chance they won't survive the injuries received from the job.

Most hitters don't even get a name. If they _do _make a name for themselves, the way Eliot did, it means they're exceptional. And they know a little something about survival.

I'm not afraid of him anymore. But I do hate what he is.

A hitter.

Because of what that says about him. It means he's not afraid to die. Which means he doesn't think his life is worth living.

And I'd love to beat the shit out of whoever taught him to believe that. Whoever made Eliot Spencer think that he was 'expendable'.

The first time the team showed him compassion, took care of him, he'd been beaten up really bad on a job that didn't even really go south. The beating was just…collateral damage. He'd had a concussion among other things and was bloody, bruised and half broken.

It broke my heart a little, that look of surprise on his face when he realized we had stayed with him through the night and intended to stay until he was better.

Eliot Spencer isn't expendable. He isn't just a bag of muscle to be put between someone and a bullet. Not to us.

Not to me.

And I'm ready to spend as long as it takes to make him believe that too.


	6. Nothing Wrong With Her

**Title**: Nothing Wrong With Her**  
Word Count: **258**  
Genre: **Romance**  
Rating:** K**  
Line/Prompt: **trust you**  


* * *

**

There's nothing wrong with Parker.

At least, nothing he hasn't gotten used to (he's stopped asking why her left socks have to be washed separately from her right ones) or can't handle (peppermint ice cream heals all ills, he's learned).

But there is something about Parker that bother's him. Something she seems incapable of giving him that he doesn't understand.

This coming from a man with quite a few trust issues of his own.

Still, he didn't understand, until a job in Pittsburgh made it all make sense.

They'd completed the job without kink and on schedule, even with Parker's attention split between the past and present. When itw as over Parker hopped the first plane she could catch back to Boston. Eliot stayed behind beating the things that haunted the small thief so far into oblivion they couldn't find their way back into her nightmares with two hands and a flashlight.

He crawled into bed later that night, silent and careful in case she was sleeping. She immediately turned and curled into his side, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, tight and secure.

After several minutes she broke the dark silence with a small whisper.

"I trust you, Eliot."

His arms tightened around her in response and he smiled.

Nope. Nothing wrong with Parker at all. **

* * *

**

**A/N: **Just a note to anyone following my fics. My computer has died and right now I'm hijacking my mom's but I'm not goingn to be able to do that very often so don't be worried if you don't hear from me very often for a while. I am writing though and will be posting as often as possible. Thanks for understanding! - Oh! And the last drabble was written so it could be read from any POV, i personally think it was Nate or Sophie, but I think it could be anybody, your choice! ;)**  
**


	7. Behind Blue Eyes

**Title**: Behind Blue Eyes**  
Word Count: **336**  
Genre: **Friendship**  
Rating:** K**  
Line/Prompt: **No one here wants to fight me like you do**  
Warning: **Spoilers Season Three**  


* * *

**

"What the hell is your problem?" Nate's arm shot out, stopping Eliot's hasty exit and pushing him back into the room. Sophie and the others had already left and Nate had hoped the air had been cleared between himself and the irate hitter earlier, but that twas apparently not the case.

Eliot narrowed his eyes and glared dangerously.

"I've got no problem going through you, Nate," he growled, unconsciously balling his fists.

Nate closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. The 'in your face' method would only lead to damage. Either to himself or his apartment.

"Eliot, I get that you're angry," he said, dropping his arm and intentionally lowering his voice. "You're all angry. But no one here wants to fight me like you do."

Eliot didn't respond except to shift his glare slightly to the left. But Nate had been working with Eliot for a few years now and he could see beneath the anger and the tension and the impatience in those blue eyes was something else. A struggle to keep something down and not allow it to show.

Hurt.

Nate's shoulders sagged and the guilt he'd been working through since getting out of prison all flooded back into his chest.

"Eliot I-"

"You shoulda' told us, Nate," Eliot exploded, "shouda' told us Sterling had come. Shoulda let us in on what you were planning and you shoulda' told us you were shot."

Eliot shoved passed Nate to the door, allowing his parting words to sink in with his back turned.

"We're family, Nate," he muttered, "you don't get to make that choice again."

He slammed the door behind him and Nate sighed, sinking into his chair. The emptieness of the room was oppressive and the truth in Eliot's words stung. But worse than that was the knowledge.

The knowledge that, if he had the chance to do it all again, he would do it all the same.

And Nate wasn't sure if he could apologize for something he didn't regret.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **This came to me because Eliot seemed pretty upset in the Dentist room in Jailhouse Job and I thought they needed a bit more closure. This one is set between Jailhouse and Reunion. **  
**


	8. The Reasons

**Title: **The Reason**s  
Word Count: **312**  
Genre: **General**  
Rating: **K+**  
Line/Prompt: **_Eliot Spencer- Russian Roulette_ vid on youtube

* * *

He hesitates - just for a split second - before every job now.

He has his reasons. And they're all different now.

Before, back when he played for keeps and drove for pinks and knew every shot could be his last...

Before doing the wrong thing because it was right. Before he got a conscience. And before he knew how to care.

He had his reasons.

To feel the thrill. To numb the pain. To hate them all. To love himself. To forget. To _never _forget.

Back then he had reasons to put himself between rage and _gunpipechainwhatever._ Back then he had even more reason to kill.

And if he got hurt, if he shed blood, if he didn't make it back alive...

Well then, it didn't really matter. Because he had his reasons.

But now...

Now his reasons are different. Now it's all different.

Now his reasons have names.

And he doesn't think Hardison or Parker or Sophie or Nate will take solace in his own personal list of reasons if one day he doesn't make it back alive.

So he hesitates - just for a split second - before every job.

And he thinks about the reasons why he's still fighting.

* * *

**A/N: **This fic really has nothing to do with the actual _lyrics _of the song** Russian Roulette by Rihanna,** and everything to do with the haunting, soul-sick quality of her voice when she's _singing _the song, and the clips used in this vid that made me associate it with Eliot. Hope you liked, and drop me a line if you wish! -pj


End file.
